


A Warrior's Trappings

by rktho_writes



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alien Biology, Bounty Hunters, Cultural Differences, Gen, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Minor Original Character(s), Post-Star Wars Prequel Trilogy & Pre-Star Wars: Original Trilogy, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Pre-The Mandalorian, Space Pirates, Speculation, Star Wars: Rebels References, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26966350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rktho_writes/pseuds/rktho_writes
Summary: When Din Djarin and a temporary partner are accosted by a gang of raiders, he discusses culture with their leader and finds some small common ground.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	A Warrior's Trappings

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is really an excuse for me to a) have three unlikely characters interact with each other and b) share some of my headcanons. I hope everyone's in character, but the amount of background and characterization for reference varies wildly between these three characters. Features a few minor OCs from my previous work Du Doompa which is currently on an update hiatus. (If you want to check it out, it also features Hondo and the Cloud-Riders and a Mandalorian OC.)

Hondo Ohnaka hummed a little tune as he loaded the last crate onto the _Razor Crest_. “This fortune will last me a lifetime,” he chuckled. “Thank you again, my friend. This has been a most profitable partnership.”

Din did not reply as he boarded his ship, dragging his quarry behind him like an empty sack. The bounty’s tentacles dragged limply across the floor as the hunter walked briskly to his ship’s brig.

“You really got him good,” the pirate winced, looking at the Parwan’s deflated head.

“He’ll live.”

“I did not know their heads could do that,” Hondo admitted.

Din shut the door to the small holding cell with the limp Parwan in it. The Weequay followed the Mandalorian to the cockpit and made himself comfortable in the copilot’s seat. “You know, this ship is growing on me.”

Din sat down and flicked some switches.

“Well, now that that’s taken care of, let’s discuss business,” said Hondo, crossing his legs and resting his head on his hands.

“We already discussed business.”

“Ah, well, see, I was thinking— you seem to be doing _very_ well for yourself, whereas _I—_ I don’t even have my own ship!” said Hondo. “So I was thinking, maybe I take _all_ the cargo, and you can keep the quarry.”

“The hold’s got room for one more,” Din replied without turning his head.

“Half the shipment is _more_ than enough!” Hondo said quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of touching a _single_ crate more!”

Din rolled his eyes under his helmet. A ship exiting hyperspace caught his attention.

Hondo leaned forward to see the new arrival. “Oh no!” he cried. “Get us away from here as fast as you can!”

“What’s that?” asked Din. “Pirate gang?”

“Worse!” Hondo cried, frantically pushing buttons. “Get us out of here!”

“Stop that.” Din flicked a series of switches on the dashboard. The _Razor Crest_ released its docking clamp from the pharmaceutical freighter.

Hondo fidgeted his hands. “Why aren’t you making the jump to lightspeed?”

“ _Crest_ needs a minute to warm up.”

“I take back everything I took back!” Hondo exclaimed. “This ship is garbage!”

Din reached up and flicked more switches. The approaching carrier loomed closer.

“That's it! I am out of here!” Hondo cried, throwing up his hands and running for the back of the craft. “I am borrowing your escape pod!”

“Don’t even think about it.”

The Weequay toppled backward as the ship rocked. Din wordlessly jerked his head toward another part of the console— his version of spitting a curse. He flicked more switches.

“I am a dead man!” Hondo exclaimed.

“Someone else come to collect one of the bounties on your head?”

“These are not bounty hunters,” Hondo replied gravely. “Bounty hunters can be reasoned with.”

“Not me.” Din got up from his seat, drew his blaster and headed for the hatch.

“I would, ah, _appreciate_ it if you would not mention to them that Hondo is here?” the pirate admonished. “I would even go so far as to, I don’t know, let you keep the quarry _and_ the merchandise?”

Din stood in front of the cargo ramp, ready to fire on whoever was on the other side.

“Open up!”

“Who are you?” Din responded.

“Open the hatch.”

Din pressed a button on his wrist brace. The cargo ramp began to lower.

Surrounding the ship was a ragtag band of raiders, armed to the teeth with blasters and blades. All of them had one thing in common with the Mandalorian.

Every single one of them was wearing a mask.

The figure standing in front, holding an electroripper staff, blades extending from their helmet, stepped forward. “Identify yourself.”

“How about you guys tell us who you are first.”

“We’re the Cloud-Riders, pirate scum,” snapped one of the masked gang members.

Din cocked his head. “ _Pirate?_ ”

“Horan, let me take care of this,” said the figure who had spoken first, raising a gloved hand. “Who are you?”

“I’m a Mandalorian.”

“I can see that,” replied the person with the bladed staff. “What were you doing here? Why were you docked to that freighter?”

“I had a job to do.”

“He beat us to it,” said a tall figure sneeringly. “He’s got our medicine, right there.”

“Zoram.” The figure lifted their hand again and walked forward. “This cargo belongs to us now.”

“I don’t think so,” Din replied coldly. “I’m with the Guild.”

“Turn over your weapons,” the masked figure ordered.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Then holster your weapon and come out with your hands where we can see them.”

Din thought it over for a moment, then slowly placed his gun in his holster and raised his hands.

“Come out.”

Din walked forward, keeping his hands up. He glanced left and right with his eyes, taking in as much as he could without moving his head.

“Unload the cargo.”

As the Cloud-Riders pushed hovertrolleys up the _Razor Crest's_ boarding ramp, Hondo attempted to make a break for it. One of the Cloud-Riders seized his arm. “Chuba tinka koona t’chuta?”

A second Cloud-Rider in Tusken Raider garb soon got hold of the Weequay’s other arm. “Put me down! Listen, I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement! There’s no need to—”

The two Cloud-Riders brought him before their captain. Hondo grinned. “Well, well. Enfys Nest. We meet again!”

“Again?” The masked figure tilted their head.

“I mean— No! Of course not! We… we’ve never met before!” Hondo chuckled nervously. “Why don’t you tell your men to let go of me and I can introduce myself.”

Enfys Nest nodded. “Chussido. A’Koshi.”

The figures released Hondo’s arms. “Thank you,” the pirate sighed with relief, massaging his arm. “My name is Ohnaka. _Hondo_ Ohnaka. Legitimate businessman and friend to those in need, as I have always been.”

“I know who you are, Hondo Ohnaka,” Enfys Nest replied, their modulated voice suddenly very cold.

“You… do?” Hondo furrowed his leathery brow. “But you just said—”

“Ohnaka the pirate,” Enfys growled, stepping forward. “Ohnaka the bandit. Plunderer. _Pillager._ ”

“That seems a little like the Ugnaught calling the Jawa short, no?” Hondo chuckled nervously, Nest’s masked face inches from his own. “You know, for a woman your age, you look absolutely stunning, I think it’s the mask—“

“My mother told me all about you.”

Hondo furrowed his brow. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting—“

“Where is the rest of your crew?”

Hondo gasped, recoiling backwards from Enfys’ piercing gaze. “The _audacity!_ You wage _war_ on my enterprise for ten _years,_ you _hunt down_ my band and kill _all_ of my men, and then you ask me _where is my crew?_ This is an outrage! _Oh,_ if I were a vengeful man!” He threw up his hands and began to walk back to the ship.

“Your band of thugs got everything it deserved,” said Enfys, sounding as though her vocoder was about to freeze over from the ice in her voice. “And now I think it’s time _you_ get what you deserve.”

Hondo was blocked from the ramp of the _Razor Crest_ by a Cloud-Rider wearing a Kaleesh battle mask. She jammed the business end of her slugthrower rifle in the pirate’s gut. The Weequay stumbled backwards into the blunt end of the Tusken’s gaderffii stick.

“Wait! Wait!” Hondo cried frantically. “I’m a different man, I swear! I— I am one of the good guys now! I was delivering these medical supplies to sell to the needy for _very, very_ cheap! Ask the Mandalorian! He was helping me to deliver the shipment, isn’t that right… er, Mando?”

Din sighed. “Yeah.”

“A bounty hunter and a former pirate doing charity work?” Horan made a doubtful noise under his helmet.

“It can happen!” Hondo insisted. “One time, I— I mean, this one pirate you’ve _never_ heard of and his crew were raiding this farming village on Felucia, and the farmers hired bounty hunters to protect their merchandise. And they did it for dirt cheap! Even after I offered to— I mean…”

The pirate cleared his throat. “I am a personal friend of Hera Syndulla!”

Enfys glanced at Din. “Is he telling the truth?”

“How should I know?” Din had never even heard of Hera Syndulla. He’d only met Hondo a few hours ago.

“I can get you in contact!” said Hondo. “Trust me, I can prove we are friends, and _then_ you will know that I am a man of the most upstanding character!”

“We’ll see,” said Enfys.

The Kaleesh and the Tusken Cloud-Riders led the pirate away to the comms room to verify his claim. Enfys approached the bounty hunter. “You’ll have to understand we need to take this shipment.”

“We can work out an agreement.”

“I hope so.” Enfys turned and began walking away. Din observed the curly red hair hanging down her back from under her helmet. He wondered if it was her own, or if it was the hair of an animal, like the furs of her cloak. That was not the hair of someone as old as Hondo Ohnaka.

Din looked back at the Cloud-Riders unloading the ship. “I don’t want them poking around.”

“They’ll only remove the crates.”

“How about they do that after we work something out,” Din insisted firmly.

Enfys turned her head toward him. For a moment, she was silent. Din knew from experience what kind of expression was probably on her face.

“Very well.”

Enfys raised her hand. “Stop unloading the cargo.”

The Cloud-Riders exchanged looks, but obeyed their captain.

Din’s eyes moved about the ship as they walked, taking in the carrier. He noted the fleet of swoop bikes and the cargo shuttle that was obviously not one originally. The aft section of the ship was almost all hangar; some of it had been converted into an onboard training range. Enfys led him to the fore of the vessel through a door that opened into a corridor.

Enfys stopped at one of the corridor rooms and punched in the door code. The door whooshed open and Din followed her inside. From the bunk inside the wall, he could tell these were her personal quarters.

As the door shut behind them, Enfys laid her staff on a rack and invited the Mandalorian to sit at a round table inscribed with lines of poetry, like the ones carved into her helmet. Din did as she invited. Enfys remained standing; there was only one seat.

Din waited for her to speak first.

“That medicine could help people.”

“It could.”

“What did you intend to do with it?”

“Turn it over to my client.”

“And who is that?”

“Can’t say.”

Enfys crossed her arms. “I would like to know.”

“It’s against the code.”

“If I’m going to let you keep any of the merchandise, I need to know what it’s going to be used for.”

“I didn’t ask what he was going to do with it.”

“Don’t make this difficult.”

Din tilted his head, raising an eyebrow under his helmet. The growl of the vocoder went a long way toward intimidation, he had to give her that.

Din and Enfys held each other’s gazes, unmoving, as if they were two statues. Din’s eyes flicked to her forearms.

“Those are beskar.”

Enfys looked at her gauntlets. “Yes, they are.”

She threw out her forearms in one swift motion, blades flicking from her vambraces. Din observed the fanbladed gauntlets— they were not Mandalorian weapons.

“A gift,” Enfys explained. “From the man who gave me life to the woman who brought me into the galaxy. He was Mandalorian, like you.”

Din regarded the blades. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’re fashioned after the traditional gauntlets of my ancestors.” Enfys turned her hand back and forth. “In ancient days they wore fanned gauntlets that served as both shield and weapon. The retractability is a modern invention.” She pressed a button on her gauntlet and the fans snapped shut.

Din pondered this. He did not know the culture Enfys was describing. “What happened to them?” he asked. “Your ancestors.”

“Wiped out by the Hutts,” Enfys replied bitterly. “A thousand years ago. Their planet, pillaged, desecrated, and destroyed. All of them chose death over slavery save one. I am descended from that woman, who killed her master, and became the first in a line of warriors that will exist for as long as there is oppression in this galaxy.”

“Idealists.”

Enfys tilted her head. “Yes.” She folded her hands. “I take it you don’t care for idealism.”

“Not really.”

“So what do you care for?”

Din turned his head away just a fraction. “My tribe. My religion.”

“Your religion is not an idealistic one.”

“It’s a way of life, not an opinion of life.”

“My father shared my mother’s spark of hope,” said Enfys. “ _Akay mhi olora shal kyr’yc dayn’taap, kyr’yc tenn’taap, kyr’yc kara, bal liser dar slana laamyc’shy’a._ ”

Din recognized the Mando’a as the poem translated on her helmet. _Until we reach the last edge, the last opening, the last star, and can go no higher._ He wondered if her father composed it himself.

“What happened to him?”

“He promised to come back.” Enfys was silent for a moment. “He will be avenged when the Empire is destroyed.”

Din thought back to the massacre he had witnessed in the Great Purge, the memory still fresh in his harrowed soul.

"If it can be destroyed."

Enfys was quiet for another moment. “You’re with the Bounty Hunters’ Guild.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Just an observation.”

Din sensed the conversation was going to return to his merchandise. “My client is offering five hundred per bottle.”

“If only I knew what was going to be done with it,” Enfys replied. “That would make my decision much easier.”

“The commission requested anonymity.”

“Then I can’t let you part with a single drop.”

“You’re going to have to.”

“You are not a guest here, Mandalorian,” Enfys growled. “I have fought against the Five Syndicates all my life. I will not allow a bounty hunter on my ship to assist a crime lord.”

“He’s not a crime lord.”

“Then what is he?”

“A chairman.”

“Chairman of what?”

“Again, I can’t say.”

Enfys sat thinking for a moment. “A competitor.”

Din did not confirm her conjecture.

“They’re going to take the drug,” Enfys continued, as if she were Din responding in the affirmative. “Reverse engineer the recipe. Change one ingredient and patent it so they can sell it for an exorbitant price. Is that it?”

Din was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t ask what they were going to do with it.”

“You said that.”

Enfys paused as if sighing soundlessly. “If my suspicions are true, I can’t let you keep the merchandise. There are people who need that medicine. They shouldn’t be forced to give up everything to live another month.”

“Tough break.”

Enfys stepped forward, radiating anger. Din put a hand on his blaster.

Then she reached up, lifted her helmet from off her head, and placed it on the table with a thud.

Din’s suspicions were confirmed. Standing before him was a red-haired, freckled woman his own age, or close to it. Hondo had been mistaken.

“Mandalorians used to be known as a noble race.” Though there was no longer an electronic growl in her voice, her eyes looked as though sparks would fly from them without her visor in front of them.

“That’s not what I’ve heard people say.”

“My father was a noble man, at least,” Enfys retorted. “Compassionate. Committed to justice. Honorable.”

“My definition of honor is not the same as yours.”

“That much is clear.” Enfys sat, her dark eyes boring into his even though she could not see them. “What _is_ your definition of honor?”

“Always keep your word. Tribe comes first.”

“And what does your honor say about allowing innocent people to suffer?”

“It’s not my concern.”

“It’s mine.” Enfys’ fist was clenched.

Din sighed silently. “One crate.”

Enfys’ brow clouded.

“You can keep the rest.”

Enfys’ brow softened slightly, then she sighed. “And this one crate will still go to your client?”

“As contracted.”

“Even one crate in greedy hands would make people’s lives more difficult.”

“I’ve gotta make a living too.”

Din could sense disappointment, but Enfys’ expression was one of acceptance. “Wait here.”

Din made no motion as she exited the room, but he caught a glimpse of two Cloud-Riders standing by the door. She was putting him under guard. Nest’s trust only went so far, it seemed. He sighed heavily and hoped they wouldn’t invite themselves to search the _Crest._ Just in case, he used his wrist controls to lock every door on the ship except the cargo ramp.

Din leaned back and waited. He didn't know when Enfys would return, but he could be patient. Impatient bounty hunters never made it anywhere in the field.

Din cast his gaze on the walls around him. A woven tapestry hung on one side of the room, geometrically patterned in varying shades of red, brown, and black. Din didn’t know what the significance of the design was; it could have been religious, or it could have been a clan tartan— though from what Enfys had said, it would have been the only one of its kind, the other clans having been wiped out centuries ago. Din observed the teeth dangling from the fringes of the tapestry and wondered what animal they could have come from.

His attention turned to her helmet. He had seen many things somewhat like it, but nothing in common with other battle helmets he was familiar with. It was ancient and bulky, with the blades that stuck out from it like a mane. He wondered if they could be removed and used as knives. It was in stark contrast to the minimalist design of a Mandalorian helmet, yet Din felt a connection to the battered helm all the same.

Din was already standing by the door waiting when it whooshed open to reveal Enfys had returned. “You are free to go.”

“Finally.” Din followed the raider captain back through the corridor.

Din decided it was a good time to satisfy his mild curiosity. “What’s your history with the pirate?”

“He was once the leader of a notorious gang of pirates in the Florrum system,” Enfys replied. “His gang and my mother came into conflict many times.”

The door to the hangar whooshed open. “He seems confused about your age.”

“I was named after my mother,” Enfys replied. “Many people assume she is still the one behind the mask. I don’t discourage the confusion. When I took over the gang at sixteen I wore a vocoder box to mask my age. Now…” She shrugged.

Din raised an eyebrow. “It’s part of you.”

“You could say that.”

They walked in silence for a few paces. “So what are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Seems like you don’t like pirates. But…”

Enfys smiled. “We steal from the Empire. The crime syndicates. We take what they have plundered from the innocent and give it back. Provide relief. Supply rebellion.”

“Huh.”

“You could join us,” Enfys offered.

“I have no reason to.”

“We always need more warriors in our fight against the Empire.”

“Good luck with that.”

As they approached the _Razor Crest,_ Din inspected it from afar. He saw the hatch was closed and the crates were all stacked outside, save one. “You didn’t touch anything except the crates?”

“Nothing,” hissed the tall Cloud-Rider with the hexagon-shaped head.

“You didn’t look in the rest of the ship?”

“What do you take us for?” asked a Cloud-Rider in a patchwork poncho. “Scavengers?”

Din looked around. “Where’s the pirate?”

“He’s in the ship, waiting for you,” replied a woman wearing a droid faceplate for a helmet.

Din walked toward the docking ramp. He sighed silently as he boarded his old ship, knowing he would be returning to Nevarro with a less bountiful cargo than he had hoped.

“Thank you, Mandalorian.”

Din turned toward Enfys, who had spoken. Then he headed into the ship and raised the boarding ramp.

Din wordlessly patrolled the ship, inspecting it to confirm the Cloud-Riders were true to their word. Nothing appeared to have been touched or trifled with. There was a singular medicine crate sitting in the cargo hold.

Din went up to the cockpit area. Hondo was not there. Furrowing his brow under his helmet, Din went to the brig. The Parwan was still in the cell, his mushroom-shaped head beginning to reinflate as he regained consciousness. He wondered if he would give him trouble. He might have to stop and put him in carbonite. He longed for the day when carbon-freezing technology progressed enough for him to install an onboard carbonite chamber.

Din shut the door to the brig. “Weequay.”

There was no response from the pirate.

Din sighed and walked to the pilot’s seat. He would find out where the pirate was after he’d made the jump to lightspeed. Maybe the Cloud-Riders had shot him and lied about it. He wouldn’t mind.

The _Razor Crest_ retracted its landing gear as it rose. Its massive engines fired up, it glided from the hangar of the Cloud-Riders’ carrier into space.

As Din began to make his lightspeed calculations, the Cloud-Riders’ vessel disappeared into hyperspace. The _Razor Crest_ shortly did the same.

With the _Crest_ now travelling through hyperspace, Din got up and resumed his search for Hondo. He did not find him in the refresher room. He opened his weapons cabinet and found nothing was missing.

Something wasn’t right. He went back down to the cargo hold with his blaster drawn.

He couldn’t see the Weequay anywhere. If he was hiding, he was very good at it.

Din decided to open the crate to make sure the pirate hadn’t stolen his share of the merchandise while he had been negotiating.

The crate hissed open and Din pushed off the lid. He did not find any medicine vials. Only a Weequay, cuffed and gagged.

Din understood immediately and groaned. Almost out loud.

Hondo climbed out of the box, pulled down the tie around his mouth and spat out a lump of wadded fabric. “Well, it looks like the great Hondo Ohnaka lives to swindle another day.”

“What happened?”

“Well, it turns out that my friendship with Captain Syndulla is… how do I put it… not mutual,” Hondo shrugged. “But she convinced them not to shoot me. So they stuffed me in a crate instead. Well! I am never one to hold a grudge. I am grateful for my health. Now, would you be so kind as to remove my binders?” The pirate held out his wrists and beamed.

Din looked at the cuffs. “I think I’ll keep them on.”

Hondo laughed. “You double-crossing scoundrel! I knew you had it in you.”

“I told you I had room for one more.”

“And that is what I like about you, Mando,” Hondo grinned. “You are a shrewd businessman.”

“Get back in the box.”

“What the—” the pirate sputtered. “That’s not necessary! Surely we can—”

Hondo stopped short at the blaster pointed at his gut, sighed theatrically, and stepped back into the box.


End file.
